Robert B. Parker’s Buried Secrets

Eighteen

Matthew Peebles didn’t strike Jesse as a master criminal, which meant he probably wasn’t any good at running from the police. If he wasn’t in New York, he was still close by, as Molly said. He wouldn’t be hard to find.

Suit was busy running Jesse’s errand with the money, so Jesse called in Gabe Weathers, who was happy to go along.

They started working their way down the highway, hitting the cheapest motels as they went south from Paradise. These were the places that took cash and didn’t check IDs. There weren’t many of them. Real estate around Paradise was too valuable to waste on anything cheap, and almost nobody took cash anymore.

They got lucky at the third place they tried, the Beachside, outside Saugus. It was a beat-up collection of buildings left like old dog turds around a cracked parking lot. If there was a beach anywhere nearby, Jesse couldn’t see it.

The clerk, an older Asian man tapping away on a laptop behind the counter, looked at their badges. He sighed and stood up from a high-tech office chair that was probably the most expensive piece of furniture in the place.

“Let me guess,” he said. “You’re looking for the guy who checked in early this morning and smelled like gasoline.”

Jesse smiled. “We are, in fact, looking for an arsonist.”

Gabe showed the clerk a headshot of Peebles, taken from his Facebook page and printed to letter size. People who took a lot of selfies were much easier to identify.

The man nodded. “Room Fourteen. Ground floor, right corner.”

“Anyone in the rooms next to him?” Jesse asked.

“No,” the clerk said. “Too early in the season. Not many people desperate enough to stay here until the other places fill up.”

“You got a master key?”

“Absolutely,” the clerk said. “I don’t want you kicking in the door.”

“Is this your place?” Gabe asked, while the man got the key from a lockbox behind the desk.

“Thought I’d retire someplace near the ocean,” the clerk said. “Have a nice little second career making people happy on their vacations.”

“How’s that working out?” Jesse said.

The clerk stared at him, dead-eyed, as he handed over the key. “People on their vacations are the most miserable bastards you’ll ever meet.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Gabe said.

The clerk shrugged. “I’ll sell the place eventually. Maybe I’ll do better on my second retirement.”

Jesse took the key and he and Gabe drew their sidearms as they left the office.

“Wait,” the clerk called. “Take this with you.”

He handed Jesse a tool with a handle on a thin piece of steel with a forked end.

“It’s an emergency-release tool. You can use it to flip the privacy latch if he’s got it engaged.”

Jesse looked at the tool. “You really don’t want us to break the door down, do you?”

“And try not to shoot him if you can avoid it, please,” the clerk said. “I just patched the walls in that room.”

“We’ll do our best,” Jesse said.

They moved fast down the walkway toward Room 14, Jesse taking the lead.

They stopped at the door. Jesse eased the key into the lock and pushed the door open slowly and quietly. It stopped a couple of inches into the room. Peebles had thrown the security latch.

Jesse handed the clerk’s tool to Gabe. His hands were too clumsy with the bandages. Gabe pushed the tool through the gap, and the latch flipped back easily.

Jesse stepped forward. He always went through the door first.

They rushed into the room, Gabe right behind Jesse, guns up and out, shouting, “POLICE! FREEZE!” Maximum noise, maximum impact, hoping to shock-and-awe Peebles and whoever else might be inside into a quick surrender.

Matthew Peebles, asleep on the bed, looked up blearily, squinting in the sunlight from the open door.

He said, “Oh.” Like he’d been waiting to see them. The look on his face was one of the saddest things Jesse had ever seen. He looked like this was the last thing he needed in the world, and the first thing he’d expected this morning.

Jesse didn’t waste a lot of time feeling sorry for him, though. “On the floor. Now,” he said, keeping his gun aimed at Peebles’s head, just in case there was a weapon hidden under the pillow or the sheets.

Peebles slowly got out of the bed and slid down onto the beat-up old carpeting.

Gabe holstered his weapon while Jesse kept Peebles covered. He put a knee on Peebles’s back, grabbed his hands, and cuffed him.

“Matthew Peebles, you are under arrest,” Gabe said, and began to read him his rights.

“Yeah,” Peebles said, face down on the carpet, his voice muffled. “I figured.”